


Hands to Yourself (Not Yours to Touch)

by eyesofshinigami



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Don't touch his bard, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Inappropriate touching, Language, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:36:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24600118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesofshinigami/pseuds/eyesofshinigami
Summary: Sure, emotions tended to fall to the wayside in the business of hunting monsters, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t exist at all. Certain Witchers had a penchant for being stoic and pretending that he didn’t feel anything most of the time; only those who knew him well could read between his grunts and gruff exterior.Unless, of course, it came to hisbard.Or, five times Geralt had to keep people from touching/flirting with his bard, and the one time it was Jaskier's turn.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 160
Kudos: 1082
Collections: Medium Length Works to Read





	1. An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, my first Witcher fic! After months of work, I finally finished it! 
> 
> My Geralt is a mix of game and the show, and Jaskier of course is his fabulous self. Still working on reading the books, sorry. 
> 
> Many thanks to my beta stfustucky and my wonderful husband, and the group of sprinters who keep me motivated over on the Geraskier Discord. You guys are the real MVPs

Whoever came up with the idea that Witchers don’t feel was full of horseshit. 

Sure, emotions tended to fall to the wayside in the business of hunting monsters, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t exist at all. Certain Witchers had a penchant for being stoic and pretending that he didn’t feel anything most of the time; only those who knew him well could read between his grunts and gruff exterior. 

Unless, of course, it came to his _bard._

After the horrible fight on the mountain, it had taken Geralt ages to finally realize exactly why he missed the sound of Jaskier’s voice beside him, or the way that he would jerk up at the faint scent of chamomile and rosin when he entered a town, only to be disappointed when the bard was nowhere to be found. The realization came like a slap to the face and he was struck by the hollow feeling in his chest that settled right beside the pull of both his Child Surprise and the bond with Yennefer. Upon further reflection, he’d realize just what an ass he’d been. Jaskier hadn’t deserved his ire on that mountain, and he certainly hadn’t deserved Geralt constantly treating him like an annoying horsefly instead of the welcomed companion he was. Which, of course, hadn’t made the empty pit in his stomach or his chest feel any shallower. 

It had been that hollow feeling that had compelled Geralt to find Jaskier, this time accompanied by Ciri. She had asked him once who Yennefer was, and had been satisfied with his vague explanation of the mess with the djinn. After that, though, she was constantly pestering him for stories and tales of his adventures, and the hollow place in his chest grew wider when all of them shared a common thread that he tried to pretend wasn’t prominent. It came to a head when she finally asked, “So, where is Jaskier? He seems like he was very important to you.”

Wasn’t that a punch to the gut? Geralt was better with a sword than he was with words, but he found himself stumbling even more than usual. “I… don’t know. I haven’t seen him in a while.” Ciri had snorted and then said simply, “Then I think we should find him. He should be here too.”

And that was that. It wasn’t easy, between dodging Nilfgaardian soldiers and Geralt fighting monsters to keep them fed, but eventually they came to a smaller town, one that had seemed untouched by the war as of yet. Underneath the usual smells of farm animals, unwashed people, and food cooking in the air, Geralt caught wind of the scent that made his belly tighten. 

There, in the tavern, was his bard, his _Jaskier_ , singing songs with rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes. It was like a siren’s call and Geralt found himself pulling Ciri inside. 

It had taken many apologies, uncomfortable conversations, and some truly amazing sex before Jaskier had finally agreed that despite Geralt being slightly emotionally constipated at times, he’d be willing to accompany him again. 

Of course, now that Geralt had gotten a sliver of what it meant to truly have all of Jaskier’s affections, he was never going to let that go. And he’d be thrice damned before he’d let anyone else take it away, either. Geralt of Rivia was not a man who was willing to share, and though Jaskier was wholeheartedly devoted to him, it seemed other people were downright determined to bring out the less than savory of his newfound emotions with their _infernal flirting and touching of his bard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be gentle. <3
> 
> You can find me over at [hazandlouwho](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hazandlouwho).


	2. Random Bar Patron

The first time it happened, they were in some backwater village on the road that would lead them to the mountains where Kaer Morhen resided. This close to the keep, villages were few and far between,the three of them were grateful for what passed as an inn and tavern. The innkeeper barely batted an eye when Geralt asked for two rooms, but seemed very interested when he caught sight of Jaskier over Geralt’s shoulder. “The bard with you?” 

“Yes, he is,” Geralt replied gruffly.

The innkeeper scratched his chin. “Tell you what, Witcher. I’ll give you the rooms for half the coin and dinner on the house if your bard agrees to play for the evening. It’s been a fair bit since we’ve had one come through these parts, and I think it might be good for business.”

A buzz of warmth ran through Geralt’s belly when the man called Jaskier his, but he grunted in reply before motioning Jaskier over. “The man has an offer for you.”

The offer was repeated, and Jaskier lit up beautifully at the prospect. “Of course, good sir! I would be honored! It has been far too long since I have had a proper audience with which to share my talents.” He turned to Geralt with wide blue eyes and too long eyelashes that he batted like the coquette he could be. “Surely you and our girl could spare some time to watch?” 

As if Geralt would be able to do anything else. “Sure. I’m sure Fiona would enjoy seeing you perform.”

Thankfully, Jaskier didn’t throw his arms around Geralt in front of the innkeeper, but he certainly didn’t miss the heat behind the bard’s outlandish expression. With that, Jaskier swanned off to prepare for his set and Geralt managed to procure three bowls of stew and draughts of ale. 

He and Ciri sat together and ate while Jaskier flitted about the room. After so long apart, Geralt enjoyed watching his bard flit about the room, ducking to quip at them and snare a bite or two before rushing off for more preparations. Geralt would probably bite through his own tongue before he’d admit it out loud, but seeing Jaskier in his element again settled something in his chest. That hollow place was slowly beginning to fill, with each kiss, each glance, each fervent touch and song that Jaskier gave him. 

“Geralt, are you all right?” Ciri asked around a mouthful of stew. Sometimes it was hard to believe that she’d been raised as a princess in the court of Cintra. “Your face… are you smiling?”

“Witcher’s don’t smile,” he muttered impassively. He took a long drink from his cup to hide the way the corners of his mouth kept insisting on quirking up. 

Ciri eyed him for a moment, then wisely let it go. But her eyes sparkled with the same glint of mischief Jaskier tended to favor, so he was very sure that she was going to bring it up again. Probably during his next hunt, with his luck. 

They continued their meal in companionable silence, while more and more people began to trickle in. With as small as this village was, it seemed the entire population had turned out for the night’s entertainment. Geralt felt a small swell of pride that so many people were here for Jaskier’s show, though he knew it was more likely these poor people hadn’t had something to break the monotony in forever. He went to say as much to Ciri, but was cut short when Jaskier climbed onto what appeared to be a hastily cobbled together stage.

“Good evening, lovely patrons! I am Jaskier, your entertainment for his evening. Please, enjoy yourselves and hopefully, you’ll find me entertaining enough to send a few coins my way,” he called out with a saucy wink that made many in the tavern laugh. He immediately launched into “Fishmonger’s Daughter” and kept making eye contact with Geralt during the bawdier parts of the song.

It made Ciri giggle, and Geralt was thankful that his Witcher constitution allowed him to keep from blushing a little. Watching Jaskier flirt had always been a heady thing, but all that attention solely directed his way? Surely nobody could fault him for getting a little warm behind the ears. 

The good feelings screeched to a halt when his sensitive hearing caught the man a table over say, “He’s a pretty ‘un, for sure. Bet if I tossed enough coin his way, he’d entertain me other ways.” The other two men at the table laughed, which seemed to bolster him. Jaskier had segued into a song about when the White Wolf defeated the Striga, and try as he might, Geralt couldn’t concentrate with the man’s commentary about Jaskier’s mouth. 

“I bet he’d hit some impressive high notes, make him sing like a songbird.”

Geralt grit his teeth and reminded himself that this prick talking about Jaskier in such a way didn’t warrant him killing him. Besides, Geralt could comfort himself with the knowledge that he was the only one who could make Jaskier trill like a lark under such conditions. Even if Jaskier was in the market for a bed partner, it certainly wouldn’t be some backwater cunt who can’t stop running his mouth about his prowess. 

It continued on like that through the rest of the set. Jaskier got a little saucier during “Toss a Coin” than he usually did, face alight with the reaction from the crowd and knowing that he was riling Geralt up. 

It also didn’t help that the fucker to his left kept getting louder and more...creative the deeper he got into his cups. So much that even Ciri had taken notice, scowling at the table and keeping her hand on Geralt’s, as if she didn’t trust him not to pull his steel sword. 

He had better control than that, even if the thought crossed his mind once or twice. In the last hour.

Jaskier held the last note on his song before closing it out with a flourish on his lute. The crowd cheered and applauded, and he took a deep bow. He was pink cheeked and grinning; Geralt wanted to drag him up to their room immediately and keep that pretty flush on his skin for different reasons. Geralt could hear the rather generous clink of coins being tossed into the bard’s lute case as the man himself warbled prettily, “You’re too kind, good people! I am in need of some ale and perhaps I will grace you with an encore!”

He would do no such thing, because he’d be too busy upstairs with Geralt, that’s for sure. The way Jaskier’s smile tipped up, Geralt was sure the bard knew that too.

After he gathered up his coin and put his lute away, Jaskier made his way through the crowd towards where the two of them were sitting, graciously accepting handshakes and pats on the back. He set his lute down on the other side of Geralt, out of the way of careless feet, and set down the cup of ale he’d been handed by another patron. “Did you enjoy it, Fi? I know some of the songs were probably unfit for your ears, but I couldn’t- woah!” Jaskier’s eyes went wide and immediately Geralt noticed the way his scent changed. The bard whipped around and said rather curtly, “Excuse me, sir, but I think you should perhaps keep your hands to yourself.”

Geralt peered around Jaskier to see the same man who had kept making comments about Jaskier’s mouth now had one meaty hand placed firmly on the swell of _his_ bard’s ass. “Come on now, bard, you did say something about coin for entertainment? Surely a songbird like you wouldn’t say no to a little cock in this very fine arse of yours?” He squeezed again and Jaskier jerked away. “You’ve got a pretty little mouth, I bet it would look even better stretched around my-”

Before Jaskier could ready his own scathing reply, Geralt was up and out of his chair. He grabbed the man by his wrist, the one _touching the ass that didn’t belong to him_ , and lifted him clear out of his chair so that they were face to face. “If you even think about finishing that sentence about _my bard_ , I will rip out your tongue and shove it up your ass. He is no whore and he does not belong to you, understand?” he growled. The man nodded shakily and Geralt dropped him to the floor. “Now, _fuck off_.” 

To absolutely no one’s surprise, he and his companions did in fact, fuck off. The entire tavern had been holding its collective breath, but soon the noise and chatter resumed as if nothing had happened. 

Geralt sat back in his chair and took a deep breath through his nose. When he opened his eyes, both Ciri and Jaskier were staring at him. “What?”

“That was amazing, Geralt!” Ciri squealed, eyes wide and shining with admiration, “I know Jaskier can handle himself, but the way you defended him was just so…” she trailed off with a bit of a swoon. It was a bit endearing, seeing her act her age, even if it was at his expense. 

“I’ll say,” was all Jaskier added. His voice sounded a bit funny and for a moment, Geralt wondered if he was angry. Jaskier was more adept at taking care of himself than Geralt gave him credit for. Perhaps he didn’t want Geralt to do such things?

Geralt let out a long, slow breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I… perhaps should have kept my temper in check, but he touched you and-”

“Geralt, I know sometimes you are as dense as a river rock, but please tell me you are not apologizing for defending my honor in such a… public… way. Because I swear on Melitele’s sweet thighs that you will never see me naked ever again if you are.” 

The Witcher’s head snapped up at that. A familiar warm, spicy scent filled his nose and he took a good long look at Jaskier, who was staring at him with hooded eyes and two very attractive spots of color high in his cheeks. A flash of heat bolted down Geralt’s spine when the realization hit him that Jaskier was _aroused._ And not just aroused, but aroused in the we-need-to-find-a-horizontal-surface-right-now kind of way. “I- well. He shouldn’t have touched what’s _mine._ ” 

Jaskier let out a breath and got to his feet. “Fiona, my love, I’m afraid that I’m going to have to steal our Witcher away for the remainder of the evening. Do you have your key to your room?” At Ciri’s eye roll and nod, Jaskier added. “Perfect. Here’s some coin for ale and that dice game I know you’ve been eyeing. We’ll see you in the morning.” With that, he grabbed Geralt around the wrist and started attempting to drag him towards the direction of the stairs. 

Geralt felt as though he should perhaps protest leaving her to her own devices, but it was really hard to remember that with Jaskier being so… enticing. Instead, he told her, “Yell if you need anything. I’ll hear you.”

“Doubt you will. Have fun!” she called after them with a wave.


	3. Yennefer

It was easy to lose track of time at Kaer Morhen. They’d fallen into an easy routine that Geralt found centering. Breakfast, training with Ciri, lunch, entertaining Jaskier while Ciri studied with Vesemir, dinner, then usually falling into bed with his bard. For the first time in a long time, he felt...settled. Probably the closest a Witcher would ever come to something domestic.

Vesemir had been surprised by Geralt’s two new additions, but had gruffly welcomed them and offered what he could. The old Witcher had taken to Ciri almost immediately, what with her thirst for knowledge and training. She was eager to learn and took Vesemir’s stern way rather well; Geralt supposed she was used to it, having been raised by Calanthe. He doubted that the Lioness was fond of being soft on her granddaughter.

Jaskier, however… it had taken a little bit longer. At first, Vesemir treated the bard like furniture, barely acknowledging his existence outside of telling Geralt what a fool he was for loving a human. But soon, Jaskier wormed his way into the old Witcher’s good graces by helping out in the kitchens and with some of the lighter chores around the keep. Jaskier was also intensely interested in the fact that Vesemir was a fencing master and teacher, often getting into discussions about his own time as a professor at Oxenfurt. A strange kinship developed between the two that Geralt doubted he would ever understand. 

But, as with many aspects of Geralt’s life, the peace didn’t keep for long. 

One morning, after breakfast, Geralt was in the middle of aiding Vesemir with teaching Ciri a new technique when a portal suddenly opened up in the middle of the courtyard. A sinking feeling began in Geralt’s gut when out of it popped none other than Yennefer. She looked a bit worse for wear; her clothes smelled vaguely of smoke and ash, and her eyes betrayed a tiredness that he’d never seen before. He’d heard rumor that she was involved in the Battle at Sodden Hill, but no one had seen her since. 

Well, now here she was. “Yen?” was all Geralt could think to say. 

“Surprise. Happy to see me?” she purred, fixing him with a very familiar smile. 

The smell of lilac and gooseberries filled his nose and he waited for it to overtake his senses, draw him into the fog her presence usually caused. But only a dull throb pulsed in his chest, right where the bond sat, and a sense of relief at seeing her alive filled him. “Perhaps. What are you doing here?”

A ripple of shock crossed her features for just a moment before they settled back into her usual smirk. “Seeking safety. I sensed you were here and hoped I could join you. Lay low for a bit, as it were.” _To heal and regroup,_ Geralt heard between the lines. He didn’t remark on it. “What an incredibly drab place. It suits you.”

Geralt let out a long breath out of his nose. “I-” he started to say, but was interrupted by another familiar voice.

“Geralt? I found this old book and wondered if you would- oh, Yennefer. What a surprise.” Jaskier’s tone fell flat and Geralt watched him glance between them. An air of defeat settled over the bard. Geralt’s nose prickled and the sour scent of sadness began to fill the air. No, that wouldn’t do at all. 

Vesemir, who had been silently watching all the goings-on, frowned and called out, “How long do you intend to stay, mage? I won’t have you causing disruption where it isn’t warranted.”

Yennefer laughed a bit. “Well, not exactly the welcome I am used to. But, if it is all right, at least long enough for a glass of wine? What do you say, Geralt? Like old times?” She licked her lips, but even Geralt could see that her heart wasn’t really in it. It was an act, most likely to cover the air of sadness and exhaustion that rolled off of her in waves. 

“No, not like old times. But, I am sure we could spare a glass of wine or two.” Geralt motioned for her to follow him inside. He looked at Jaskier, who still looked like his entire world was going to shatter at any moment, and Geralt’s heart ached. “Coming, bard?” 

“Oh. Um, yes?” Jaskier replied, clearly off-balanced. 

“Can I come as well, Geralt?” Ciri asked, having stayed silent through the whole exchange. Very observant, his Child was. “I didn’t think I would get to meet Yennefer too.” 

He ruffled her hair and nodded towards Vesemir. “Once you’ve finished with Vesemir. You will have plenty of time to make acquaintances. I promise.” She let out a huff of displeasure, but nodded and went back to her training. 

Now, Geralt just had to figure out how to sort out this mess. Melitele help him.

\--

The air in the library was thick and uncomfortable as the three of them sat, drinking wine. Geralt almost wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation, but he swallowed it down with another pull from his goblet. 

“Okay, I can’t take this anymore. You… how dare you?” Jaskier finally broke, whirling around to face Yennefer. His eyes blazed blue fire and Geralt had to admit, he found it a little sexy. “You swan in here, looking all tragically beautiful and smelling incredible even though you just set an entire mountainside on fire, and… everything is going to go to shit.” He stopped himself, looking between Geralt and Yennefer as though he was waiting for them to start fucking right then and there. Which...with their track record, probably wouldn’t have been outside the realm of possibility, if Geralt hadn’t had a change of heart. “So, do your worst, witch.” Jaskier’s jaw clenched and he squared his shoulders.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Jaskier still looked poised for a fight, Yennefer was staring back at him with a strange expression on her face, and Geralt didn’t really know what to do or say. Yennefer could end Jaskier with a single thought, but he doubted she’d actually do it. Jaskier wasn’t a fighter, but Geralt also knew he had been seeking lessons from Vesemir, when he wasn’t working with Ciri. 

“Well, bard… I must say, I didn’t expect you to have such teeth on you,” Yennefer purred.

“Yeah, well. These are trying times, and you _will_ not just waltz in here and shit on the peace we’ve found here. And-” Jaskier took a deep breath. “Ciri is going to need help with what the Witchers can’t teach her. I certainly can’t teach her to control her magic, but you can.”

Geralt was struck dumb for a moment. It must have showed on his face, because Jaskier gave him a smile and a shrug. “You should pay more attention when Vesemir talks, you know.” 

“Clearly we know who is actually in charge here. All right. If the Witchers agree, I wouldn’t mind taking on Geralt’s Child Surprise as a pupil. And perhaps you and I can take some time to bury the hatchet between us, Jaskier.” Yennefer had that strange expression on her face again and her voice was still a low purr. If he didn’t know any better,-

Wait. No. Nope. Absolutely not. 

“Uh, I don’t think-” Jaskier stammered out, clearly having cottoned on to the fact that Yennefer was actually flirting with _him,_ rather than Geralt.

“The bard is off limits, Yen. Jaskier is _mine,_ ” he grit out, baring his teeth. He may have inadvertently tied their fates together, but he wasn’t going to be sharing his lover. 

“Same goes for Geralt!” 

Yennefer laughed, delighted. “You two are too much. I meant what I said, I have no interest in Geralt anymore. Love that’s forced isn’t love at all, is it? I only implied that perhaps we can all reach an understanding. Friendship, even.” 

Geralt eyed her. “Hmm,” he replied, which only made her smile widen. 

Jaskier blew out a breath and let his shoulders fall. “Okay, well. So glad that we sorted that out. I don’t know about you two, but I think we need more wine. Behave yourselves and I’ll be back.” He hightailed it out of the library, and Geralt couldn’t really fault him for it. Yennefer was a lot at the best of times.

“You know, I should be insulted that you moved on to a human bard, but it seems our little dandelion has quite the fire. Good for you, Geralt. I bet he’s an animal in bed.”

“Not like it’s any of your business,” Geralt grumbled, rubbing his forehead. 

Yennefer’s tinkling laugh filled the room again. This was going to be a long, long winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come scream at me over on [hazandlouwho](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hazandlouwho) over on Tumblr or drop me a comment here! <3


	4. Witcher OC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I made a Witcher OC because I didn't want to turn any canon Witchers into jerks. There, I said it. Please enjoy anyway!

Autumn finally gave way to winter, and with its arrival brought Geralt’s fellow Witchers back home. He’d never admit it, but he found that he enjoyed wintering with his brothers. And now, with Jaskier, Ciri, and Yennefer there, it felt like a family. A home. Vesemir would box his ears for saying so, but it didn’t change the way he felt.

It was not without its complications, which Geralt had come to expect in his long life. Eskel and Jaskier became thick as thieves, which meant Geralt had to endure incessant questions about the damn stories Eskel _insisted_ on telling him. If Geralt had to hear Jaskier ask him “Geralt, did you really…” one more time, he was going to lock the bard in their chambers and pitch Eskel off the wall of the keep. That is, if he wasn’t busy cleaning Lambert off the wall. He insisted on flirting with Yennefer, rather outrageously. At the moment, the sorceress found it amusing, but Geralt wasn’t sure how long that would last.

Kaer Morhen was livelier than it had been in centuries, to say the least. The sounds of sword fights, magic spells going off, and the sweet sound of Jaskier’s lute-playing was a constant soundtrack to their days. 

It was one such day when Geralt was demonstrating some complicated footwork to Ciri in the courtyard, Yennefer and Jaskier bundled up in fine furs as spectators, when Vesemir called down, “Oy, you boys open the gate!”

Geralt straightened and rested his sword against his shoulder. Eskel and Lambert hurriedly went to open the big wooden doors that guarded the entrance to the keep, their faces somber. Everyone who was supposed to be here had already arrived, so immediately they were all on edge. Even Yennefer had gotten to her feet, the ozone-tang of chaos barely there but unmissable. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked softly, sidling up to put his hand on Geralt’s arm. “Do you think-?” He glanced back towards Ciri, who had her sword up and a blank expression. 

“No,” Geralt answered, though his hand clenched further around the hilt of his sword. “They wouldn’t dare come here. Vesemir wouldn’t allow the gates to open if it were Nilfgaardians.” Still, stranger things had happened. He pulled Jaskier a little closer to him.

The gates opened and strode a man on a large, gray stallion, dressed in familiar armor and the signature two swords strapped to his back. He had dark black hair that swooped down into his amber eyes, his lip curled up into a slight sneer at the sight of them. “Well, I didn’t expect such a warm welcome committee when I arrived,” he said with a sniff.

Geralt’s lips curled back in a snarl. “What do you want?”

“To winter with my brethren, of course! It’s been far too long, Geralt of Rivia.” The man’s eyes roamed over the other three with interest. “Who knew the Butcher of Blaviken would have accrued such interesting party members?”

“Don’t call him that! You don’t have the right,” Jaskier shouted from behind Geralt, cheeks ruddy with more than the cold. It was probably not the wisest idea to let his bard mouth off to another Witcher, but it warmed Geralt that Jaskier took that nickname so personally now. “Who are you?”

The man looked taken aback for a moment, but the expression dissolved into a chuckle that made Geralt want to bare his teeth again. “Apologies, sir. Forgive my rudeness.” He inclined his head, but Jaskier just huffed at him. “My name is Oskar, one of the Witchers of the Wolf School. I don’t come back to Kaer Morhen often these days. I had expected the place to be nothing but a pile of rubble by now, but it seems I was mistaken.”

Eskel and Lambert had closed the gates and come back to stand with the others. Neither of them looked particularly excited to see the other Witcher either. “If it’s not to your liking, you’re welcome to leave,” Lambert spat, drawing his arms up around his chest. “The keep’ll be just fine without you.”

“And you wonder why I don’t come home more often. Well, no matter. Let me put my things away and I’ll join you all.” With that, Oskar directed his stallion towards the stables. 

Once out of sight, Ciri muttered, “I hope Roach bites him. What an ass.”

Lambert snorted and clapped her on the shoulder. “Aye, you’re not wrong, cub. Oskar was in the same group of trainees I was in. Right horse’s ass, he is. Thinks he’s better than everyone else because he survived. Crock of shit, that is.” 

“And word is he tends to sell out other Witchers to take their contracts. Should have been a Viper,” Eskel added. “I don’t think they wanted him either.”

“I don’t like him,” Jaskier said with a sniff. “Yen, do you think you could portal him to the moon?”

Yennefer looked like she might actually consider it, but Vesemir interrupted, “None of that. He’s welcome here, just like the rest of you. He’ll settle in or he’ll leave. Now, Geralt get back to training the cub, and the rest of you, make yourselves useful instead of standing there, catching flies.” 

Geralt glanced towards the direction Oskar and his equally pretentious horse had gone in and he growled low in his throat. He’d never liked the younger Witcher, and he wasn’t keen on how _interested_ he seemed in the other three. He’d definitely have to keep an eye on him.

\--

“I don’t like him,” Jaskier said again, when they were lounging together in the bath. Lute-callused fingers traced absent designs on Geralt’s chest as he relaxed back between his bard’s spread legs. “He reminds me of that damnable Valdo Marx, all swagger and full of hot air. How did he manage to survive the Trials, Melitele only knows.”

Geralt let out a vague “Hmm,” in response to Jaskier’s rambles, too relaxed and sated from their tumble in bed to put too much mind to it. But, a troubled bard meant a long night of equally troubled Witcher, so finally he replied, “He’s just… young. And has a bit of a chip on his shoulder. It’s only for a few more months, Jask.” 

He felt Jaskier’s chest heave against his back, accompanied by the indignant puff of air by his ear. “I know. He just rubs me the wrong way. Something about him. You know I happen to be an excellent judge of character, darling.” 

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed thoughtfully. An argument was on the tip of his tongue about his bard’s so-called judge of character, but decided against. It wasn’t like Jaskier was wrong, but he didn’t want to think about it while they were here, together. “I think you need a distraction, bard. Come here,” he rasped, pulling Jaskier’s head down for a kiss. Warmth flooded his belly as he shifted, pushing the smaller man up against the side of the tub. Maybe he could talk Jaskier into another round-

The door of their chambers swung open, though Geralt was pretty sure he’d locked it. “Vesemir says stop fucking and come down for dinner,” Yennefer’s voice rang out, litling with amusement. 

Geralt tore himself away from Jaskier and scowled at her, but the sorceress looked completely unmoved. “The door was locked.”

“So? And my goodness, had I known what a sight you two would make, I would have invited Jaskier into the bath we took together.”

Jaskier squeaked, and Geralt let out an annoyed sigh. “Give us a few minutes. And lock the door behind you.” She did, her throaty laugh echoing as the door closed. “You know she only says those things because it gets you flustered, Jaskier.”

“I feel like you have absolutely no room to talk, Geralt. Considering she led you around by your dick for ages with a bat of her eyes and a spritz of her perfume, I’d say I handle her...whatever that is with as much dignity as I can.” 

Geralt grunted, quickly drying the both of them as quickly as he could. They both changed into more casual clothing, as had become a habit around the keep in the evenings. Jaskier looked absolutely delicious in his thin chemise, his collarbones visible through the fabric, as well as the impressive array of lovebites Geralt had left on him earlier. 

“Feeling possessive?” Geralt asked with a smirk. There was only one reason Jaskier would have chosen that particular shirt to wear. 

Jaskier didn’t reply, only giving him a saucy wink as they headed down to the kitchens.

The others were already there, Vesemir ladling stew into bowls that Eskel passed along the table. Lambert and Ciri were setting out goblets and Yennefer was uncorking bottles of wine. Simple fare and simple ware, but nobody complained. 

Well, almost nobody. “Goodness, you’d think after all this time, we’d have found a better way than to eat like barbarians,” Oskar said, making a face. 

“If you don’t like it, don’t eat it,” Eskel replied evenly, though the tense set of his shoulders was obvious. “It suits the rest of us just fine.”

Oskar sniffed again. He gestured towards Yennefer and Jaskier. “I doubt that, both of you seem like you’re used to the finer things in life. What on earth would bring either of you here?”

Yennefer didn’t deign to answer him, taking a long, slow sip of her wine. Jaskier, however, couldn’t let things lie. “Because there are more important things than fine food and feather beds, sir.” Jaskier took a prim bite of his stew and added, “Vesemir, this is delicious. You’ve outdone yourself.” 

The old Witcher huffed, but Geralt could see the amusement dancing in his eyes. “Thank you, bard. I’m glad it suits.”

Lambert snorted into his goblet at Geralt’s left. If anybody was going to get pleasure out of Jaskier’s catty remarks, it’d be him. 

“Bard?” Oskar asked, eyeing Jaskier’s collarbones with an interest that Geralt didn’t like. “Wait… you wouldn’t happen to be the bard that sings the songs of the White Wolf, would you? Johann, or Jameson?” 

“It’s _Jaskier_ , and yes, I am. Would explain why I’m here then, wouldn’t it?” Jaskier gave him a haughty look. 

Oskar raised an eyebrow. “Judging by the state of your neck, I’d have assumed otherwise. A barker and a bedwarmer, how droll.” Despite his words, there was no denying the flicker of...something that flitted across his face. 

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me? I am not a bedwarmer, if you must know.”

“Well, I doubt Geralt would keep you around for much else. Not that I blame him… you are quite pretty to look at. And you’ve done wonders for the rest of us Witchers with your charming little songs.”

The rest of the table got quiet. Jaskier’s lips curled, and Yennefer actually looked like she might set the mouthy Witcher on fire.

That was if Geralt didn’t rip him apart first. He bared his teeth and felt the wooden goblet creak in his hand.

Oskar, the poor sod, didn’t seem to notice the way that the air shifted in the room. “I wouldn’t have guessed your bedmate would be this man, Geralt. I had bets on the pretty raven woman, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers. And besides, I bet it’s much more convenient to have your barker also be the one going ass up for you. Saves coin at the brothels.” He took a sip of his wine and made a face. 

A snarl was the only warning before Geralt leapt over the table, hands around the younger Witcher’s throat. Jaskier was not a _toy_ and would not be treated as such. “I will rip your fucking tongue out if you even think about speaking again.” He pressed down, pulling a satisfying wheeze out of the other man.

At first, nobody moved. Eskel and Lambert continued to eat their stew and Yennefer wrapped her arms around Ciri’s shoulders.

Vesemir sighed and got to his feet, pulling the two Witchers apart. “Knock it off. While I should have let Geralt rip your throat out, there are too few of us as it is. If I were you, whelp, I’d keep my opinions about our friend Jaskier to yourself. If you have any sense in that head of yours.” His eyes glittered before he sat back down to finish in his meal. 

Oskar took deep, heaving breaths and croaked out, “Surely a human isn’t worth that?”

Geralt snarled at him again, teeth bared. “Mine is. And you’d do best to remember it.” 

The other Witcher croaked out another huff and didn’t bother to sit back down. With this tail tucked between his legs, he disappeared down the hall to lick his wounds. 

“I’ll never tire of you defending Jaskier’s honor like that,” Ciri said with a slight swoon. 

Lambert raised his goblet in a salute, and Eskel gave him a thumbs up. “If you hadn’t leapt over the table, one of us might have.”

“All this fuss over little old me? Goodness,” Jaskier pretended to simper, but his blue eyes were sparkling. “After all, I’m clearly little more than a bedwarmer.”

Geralt knew he doesn’t mean it, but hearing that makes him growl all over again. “Fucking prick,” he spat, angrily shoving a spoonful of stew in his mouth. His little display was more than telling, and he will probably hear about this from his fellows and Yennefer for years to come, but something in him delighted in it. Jaskier will never be just a bedwarmer and no uppity Witcher pup is going to say otherwise. 

Dinner resumed, and Jaskier scooted closer to him, so that their bodies fit together as comfortably as they can. After they finish, if Geralt drags Jaskier back up to their chamber and makes him cry out loudly enough to wake the dead, nobody said a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upward and onward, as it were
> 
> Feel free to comment, or come yell at me over at hazandlouwho over on Tumblr.


	5. Random Noblewoman

It’s truly a testament to how much Geralt loves Jaskier that he’s here, at another one of these godsdamned parties. Of course, it was an incredible honor for his bard to be invited to play at the coming of age ball for some Redanian noblewoman. He was proud of him. 

Didn’t mean he enjoyed being dressed up in an uncomfortable doublet and without his swords. Apparently, Witchers carrying their blades in an uppity soiree was frowned upon. 

He took a long pull of the rich, red wine and settled into a corner to watch Jaskier weave his magic. His lover was in his element; strumming his lute and strutting like a peacock as he sang. It didn’t hurt that the bard kept glancing his way, eyes shining and cheeks flushed with effort and pleasure as he sang of his Witcher’s exploits. The royalty and nobles were eating it up. 

After Jaskier finished his last song with his usual flourish, the duke hosting got to his feet and applauded. “Thank you, bard Jaskier, for your incredible performance. It is an honor to host you and your…” 

“Muse,” Jaskier supplied, earning nervous titters from the crowd. Geralt felt his chest puff the slightest bit at the unabashed claim Jaskier had just said out loud. 

“Ah yes, muse, the White Wolf, good Geralt of Rivia!” 

The entire room’s attention turned to him, and Geralt grumbled under his breath, but raised his goblet in a semblance of a salute. The duke didn’t seem concerned, as he continued on with his speech. “And I thank each and every one of you for attending my daughter’s coming of age. I know these times are trying and I can only hope that good food and wine will bring you some respite!”

The crowd politely clapped and an ensemble began to play, giving Jaskier time to take a break. 

“Lots of pomp and circumstance,” Geralt commented as Jaskier sidled up next to him before stealing his goblet. Normally, he’d make a fuss, but he figured Jaskier had earned it. “These people really have no idea, do they?”

After a long swallow, Jaskier handed the almost-empty goblet back to him. Typical. “Of course not. Such is the life of a noble. Unless their manors or keeps are being attacked, war and violence is a problem for someone else.” 

“Hmm. I suppose. How much longer, do you think?”

“Well, it would be impolite to leave before the meal is served, not to mention, it’s free food. I imagine we could probably make a proper exit sometime after dessert.” The ensemble’s piece began to draw to a close, which was Jaskier’s cue. “Duty calls, my wolf. Just think, after this, I will be able to pay our way into some fine establishments with sturdy beds and proper walls!” The innuendo was not lost on Geralt as his bard headed back to the stage to begin again. 

With Ciri safely ensconced inside Kaer Morhen with Yennefer and Vesemir, Geralt and Jaskier had headed back to the Path once the snows had melted. The girl had begged to come along, but none of them had wanted to put her into any further danger. Thankfully, Yennefer had been benevolent enough to keep them updated via a medallion Geralt kept in his saddle bags. He suspected she also enjoyed butting in whenever he and Jaskier were… otherwise occupied. 

At any rate, leaving had been hard, but until things quieted on the Continent, it was best to keep her hidden. 

Thinking about Ciri made him ache a little, which meant it was probably time for more wine.   
As he was filling his goblet, his ears pricked when he heard Jaskier’s name being said in hushed conversation between two noblewomen, one of whom was the lady of honor. “My, he’s much more handsome in person. Antonia saw him at one of the bardic competitions in Oxenfurt and said he had a mouth that could make the angels weep.” The girl giggled, her cheeks flushed with drink and clear intent. “I’m so glad father was able to secure him.”

“Perhaps you’ll be able to secure him for a tumble once his performance is finished! He’s been casting glances at you all night,” the other one tittered in reply.

Geralt couldn’t contain his eyeroll. Jaskier was nothing if not a consummate professional, and that included playing to his audience. This half-wit’s father was paying a considerable sum of coin for Jaskier to flounce and flirt and make her happy on her birthday. Of course, he couldn’t tell _her_ that, but it certainly wasn’t a spoiled noble brat that was taking the bard home tonight. 

If Geralt’s lips curved in the tiniest smirk at that thought, nobody had to know. 

He put the pitcher down a bit harder than was perhaps necessary, startling both the maidens with dual squeaks. Both of them looked up at him with wide eyes and the faintest scent of fear hit his nose beneath their expensive silks and perfumes. Good. “Happy birthday,” he rumbled and tipped his goblet to the noblewoman before walking away, barely catching her stuttered thank you.

The night wore on, and Geralt watched the hall get deeper and deeper into their cups. Requests for other songs besides the exploits of a Witcher began filtering in, but anyone with eyes could see that Jaskier and the rest of the ensemble were starting to tire. Geralt had half a mind to go and sweep his bard up, etiquette be damned. Thankfully, the Duke called out, “The night is young, but our musicians have earned a well-deserved respite. My own court bard shall lead us in a dance!”

A brightly dressed maiden with an impressive shock of red hair took the stage and began to strum a lyre as she warmed up for her performance. Jaskier wrinkled his nose as he strode over to where Geralt was leaning against a pillar. “A lyre? What a terrible choice for dancing music. Perhaps better suited to a funeral dirge or battle march.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, amused. He handed Jaskier his half-full goblet and watched the bard drink it like water in a desert. “Do you think it would be safe to duck out now?”

Jaskier smiled toothily. “I think I can be persuaded. Let me just go talk to the Duke-”

“Master Jaskier? I know you might think it improper, but would you perhaps grace me with a dance?” 

It was the noble brat from earlier, blinking her eyes coquettishly up at his bard. She even curtseyed, giving them both an eyeful of her impressive breasts as she ducked. Geralt frowned; who let this child wear such a gown in public? He’d die before Ciri would wear anything like that. 

It was a testament to how long they’d known one another that only Geralt caught the barely there wince on Jaskier’s face before he schooled his features into a pleasant mask of cheer. “Of course, Lady Nikola.” He bowed and offered his hand, using his other to hand Geralt his lute. 

The music picked up and Jaskier led his partner out onto the dance floor. Watching Jaskier dance was almost as pleasing as watching him play. He glided across the floor, standing out amongst the dancers in his bright blue doublet. Geralt can’t keep his eyes off his bard. 

Which means that he got an eyeful of the amorous noblewoman trying to move Jaskier’s hands to more scandalous locations on her body. She crushed her breasts against his chest and shifted so his hands fell low on her hips. Jaskier smiled and played it off as he moved back to a more respectable distance, but the girl wasn’t having it. The coy, hungry smile on her face was out of place on one so young. She’d made her mind up and she wasn’t going to stop until either Jaskier told her to stop, or she got what she wanted. 

Geralt knew Jaskier would never, too concerned with etiquette and saving face. As for her, the rest of the party were too occupied to notice what a randy young noble was doing. Especially not when some of the other younger party guests were doing the same thing. No, it was up to Geralt.

Stalking across the floor, Geralt held back the twitch of his mouth as the other couples moved out of his way. “Mind if I cut in?” he asked gruffly. The girl’s eyes went wide and she drew her hands back; but Geralt wasn’t asking about _her_. He took up Jaskier’s hands and lifted an eyebrow. “Lead.”

Jaskier’s mouth hung open for a heartbeat and then a smile swept over his face, beaming like the sun. “If you insist, dear heart.” 

The music slowed into a slower waltz and the two of them swept across the floor. Geralt could hear the whispers and gasps as they twirled, but he didn’t care. The only things that existed in that moment were him and Jaskier and the press of their bodies against one another. 

“My hero,” Jaskier whispered, resting his head against Geralt’s shoulder. The warm line of his body made the corner of Geralt’s mouth tick up just a bit. “Saving me from handsy noble ladies. Shall I reward you for your bravery?”

“Only if that means we can leave this ridiculous banquet as soon as possible.”

Jaskier’s smile widened and his blue eyes sparkled like sapphires in the low candle light. “I think something can be arranged. But first, indulge me a bit more?”

As if Geralt could refuse such a request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we're getting to earning the E rating, just bear with me. 
> 
> Drop a comment or hit me up at [hazandlouwho](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hazandlouwho) over on Tumblr.


	6. Monster of the Week

Geralt had known this day would come. There was no way it wouldn’t, not with the way Jaskier threw himself into following Geralt on his Witcher’s Path. Determined to get the best angle to watch Geralt fight, so that he could immortalize it in his many songs. It was as annoying as it was endearing, at least on another day.

But not today.

Instead, Geralt was stuck, silver sword tight in his grip as he circled the succubus that had Jaskier tight in her grip. Black claws pressed against the soft flesh of his bard’s throat as she bared her teeth over his shoulder. “What a pretty treasure. I think I’ll keep him. He smells like heaven.”

“Like fuck you will,” Geralt snarled. The potions in his blood throb through his veins and help drive his rage even higher. There was the slightest acrid tang of fear tingeing Jaskier’s normally sunny scent, but he knew it wasn’t for him. Never for him. “I’ll remove your head first.”

She laughed, the sound musical. Jaskier shuddered a bit in her arms, but his eyes were firmly trained on the Witcher before him. He kept taking slow, shallow breaths and stayed as still as stone. “This human must be special, to have tamed a Witcher so. Your anger and rage tastes almost as delicious as your human does.” Her talons bit into Jaskier’s skin and the smell of copper filled the air. “Tell me, human, what is it that this Witcher gives you that keeps you by the side of a monster?”

Jaskier swallowed hard, but his voice stayed firm. “He loves me. He protects me and gives me everything I ask for and more.” He paused a moment, a truly vicious little smile appearing on his face as he continues, “And he’s great in the sack. There’s not a single being on this plane that could compare to my Wolf.”

The succubus let out a howl of rage and yanked Jaskier’s head to the side. “Insolent human, you will fall to me, no matter your words!” She dragged her tongue over the small, open wounds on the bard’s neck, purring loud enough that Geralt could hear at the taste of his blood. She met Geralt’s eyes as she wiggled her blood-stained tongue at him. “Like honeyed wine,” she murmured. 

Jaskier’s eyes glazed over for half a heartbeat before he shook his head to clear them. 

Only his bard would be the one to charm a succubus instead of the other way around. He would have to tell Jaskier how proud of him he was; shaking off the spell of a lust demon was no easy feat. The implications of it warmed Geralt’s insides. They’d have to talk about it once he beheaded her. 

They began to circle one another again and Geralt started to plan out how he was going to do this. He didn’t want to risk Jaskier getting hurt, any more than he already had been. His bard was still held tight in her grip, and Geralt could smell the rising exhaustion at trying to fight against the call of her. 

“I heard you singing, little bird. Your voice was as sweet as a siren’s call in these deep, dark woods. I knew your blood and lust would taste of manna and I had to take it. Humans never sound as sweet and soft as you,” she crooned. She petted his hair and pressed her nose against Jaskier’s jawline. “You are wasted on a Witcher, pet.”

“Not your pet,” Jaskier gritted out through clenched teeth. His breath was coming faster now, but he was still looking steadfastly forward. His eyes locked with Geralt’s. 

The succubus hissed again and glared at Geralt like it was his fault that the human was being stubborn. Which… was true, but Geralt refused to feel bad about it. 

“I will give you one last warning. Release the bard or I’ll kill you,” Geralt growled through bared teeth. He adjusted his grip on his sword and rolled his shoulders. He needed one more moment, one more heartbeat where she was distracted and then he could strike. But he wouldn’t risk his bard’s safety for an opening.

She tilted Jaskier’s head up again, whispering against his cheek. The bard strained to maintain distance, but she was stronger. Her red, red lips brushed over his cheekbone as she crooned at him again. “Just give into it, darling. Let yourself fall. I will give you pleasures you could only dream of. I promise I will keep you forever, pretty songbird. I will love you and ravish you and-”

The solid _thunk_ of a silver dagger lodging itself in her skull cut her off, giving Jaskier the moment of surprise he needed to duck out of her arms. The look of shock on her face was priceless; Geralt didn’t take long to enjoy it before he swung his silver sword hard enough to lop her head clean off. The body had barely hit the ground before Geralt rushed over to gather Jaskier into his arms. 

The bard shook as he pressed his face into Geralt’s shoulder. “Oh gods, Geralt. That may have very well been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. You’ve told me stories, but-”

“Hush, relax. You’re safe now, Jask. I’ve got you.” Geralt tightened his hold on the other man and kept their bodies close. The acrid smell of fear had abated, thank goodness. He never wanted to smell that on Jaskier again. 

Jaskier quieted down and closed his eyes. Slowly but surely the tension leached out of his body. The only sound around them now was the call of birds in the distance, and the mingling sounds of their breathing. Geralt could hear the way that his bard’s heart began to calm, pressed up tight against him. He nosed along Jaskier’s neck, growling a bit under his breath when he could smell the succubus against his lover’s skin. That wouldn’t do.

“Geralt, my love, my dear heart, as much as I love you staking your claim on me in the most deliciously feral way possible that doesn’t require us to be naked… I think I need to get out of these woods.” 

Geralt grunted, but helped Jaskier get to his feet. He kept his hold tight, which served well, as the bard was still rather shaky on his feet. “The next village is half a day’s ride away. We won’t be able to make it there before nightfall.” In truth, they probably _could,_ but the Witcher wasn’t about to push his bard any further than need be. 

Jaskier took a shaky breath. “I’m okay to camp, I think, I just… need to not be here right now. Can we do that, at least?” 

“Of course.” Geralt would move heaven and earth for Jaskier right about now, especially with how soft and shaken he sounded. 

They made the rest of the trek back to where Roach was tied in silence, but neither was willing to let go of the other. More than once Geralt wanted to speak, to find the right words to express the feeling that had bubbled up in his chest, but couldn’t. Instead, he reached out to take Jaskier’s hand and squeezed. 

Roach whinnied, but didn’t protest when Geralt climbed on, pulling Jaskier up with him. Having his bard pressed against him, back against his chest, settled something in Geralt. He didn’t mind when Jaskier sagged against him, trusting him to keep the bard upright. Thankfully, the silence between them shifts to something less tense the further they get from where Geralt had killed the succubus. 

A couple of hours passed and Jaskier finally said, “Can we stop now?” 

Part of Geralt wanted to keep going, see if they could make it as close to the village as possible, but he knew it wasn’t a good idea. Jaskier was still a bit shaken and his own exhaustion had sunk down into his bones. “I think so,” he rumbled, pulling Roach’s reins to get her to stop. After a bit of searching, Geralt found a suitable place for them to camp for the night. They went about their usual routine of setting up, the familiarity something they both needed. Geralt couldn’t bear to leave Jaskier long enough to hunt, so they silently agreed to dig into some of their road rations instead. 

As soon as dinner was finished, Jaskier slid into his lap and pressed as close as he possibly could. The fear-scent was gone completely, replaced by exhaustion and the sweet smell of his bard’s skin. And thankfully, the stink of the succubus was gone as well. 

“Jaskier?” he asked, voice barely above a rumble. He wanted to talk about how proud he was of Jaskier for holding her off, for not succumbing to the whims of a succubus. Not many could make that claim. "I-"

Jaskier shook his head, curling closer to Geralt and fisting his hand in the folds of Geralt's shirt. The bard was silent for a beat and then murmured, “Can you just… hold me tonight?”

The thread of desperation there nearly broke Geralt in two. “Of course.”

And that’s what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE PART!
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me. Please let me know what you think here or you can hop on over to my Tumblr at [hazandlouwho](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hazandlouwho)!


	7. +1: An Overeager Bard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY THE SMUT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who read, commented, and left kudos. It means the world, especially because this is a first fic for a new fandom. I appreciate all of you so much.

The festival was in full swing and Geralt had to grit his teeth against the onslaught of _too much_ all around him. The scents, the sounds, and the press of too many bodies was making his head spin. But he would endure, because he knew how important this was to Jaskier.

He almost wished Yen or Ciri could have made it, but they’d been caught up with something and Yennefer hadn’t bothered to explain. Instead, she had smirked and teased, “Besides, I’m sure our little flower would prefer it if all your attention was on his performance. You know how he hates to share.”

Fat lot of help she was. 

Instead, he was standing in the crowd in front of the main stage, resisting the urge to punch every person who jostled him. Jaskier owed him.

As though the very thought had conjured him up, Jaskier appeared at his arm with a frosty tankard and a wild smile. Geralt would never admit how that smile made his insides feel a little goopy. “My silly Witcher, what are you doing here in the crowd? You’re my honored guest, so you get to watch from the wings!” Before he could even respond, Geralt found himself being pulled away towards a walkway that led behind the stage.

Jaskier chattered happily at him about anything and everything, positively effusive with his usual manic energy before a performance. Most of it had been lost in the din of the crowd, but once safely behind the stage, he caught some of it. “And I do believe this will be the first time you’ve seen me perform on a stage such as this! Oh, I can’t wait for you to see me, and this time I don’t have to worry about that damnable Marx showing up to-”  
“Jask, breathe. I know you’re excited, but I-” Geralt cut himself off. He wasn’t exactly sure how to tell him that his senses were a bit overloaded. 

“Oh, love, I’m sorry. I should have realized this was probably a bit much for you. But I can assure you, it’ll be much easier here in the wings,” Jaskier said, eyes soft. He reached up and cupped Geralt’s cheek; he couldn’t keep himself from nuzzling into that familiar, warm touch. Even with all the chaos around him, he knew it was worth it to see Jaskier in his element. “My slot is twenty minutes, will that be all right?”

“Hmmm,” Geralt hummed in assent. And it would, now that the cacophony of the crowd was muted to a dull roar and the only thing he could smell was lute polish and Jaskier. “What is it you’re supposed to say before a performance? Something about limbs?”

“It’s ‘break a leg’ you oaf, and thank you, I appreciate it. Kiss for luck?” Jaskier asked with a cheeky wink.

Geralt gave a put upon sigh for show before pressing a chaste kiss against his lips, which has Jaskier beaming. He wasn’t one for public displays of affection, but he supposed Jaskier had asked nicely. He watched his bard grab his beloved lute and head out onto the stage, greeted by a thunderous applause. 

He can’t help the swell of possessive pride in his chest. It was one thing to hear people cheer for him in pubs and taverns, but this was a whole other level. Jaskier was in his element; already flushed and singing his heart out to the cheers of the crowd as many of them sang along. It was enough to make Geralt shift at the wave of heat fluttering up his spine.

Suitably distracted by his bard, it took him a moment to notice that the performer before Jaskier was standing immediately to his left. When he glanced over, he was met with a pair of bright green eyes staring at him with something to akin to wonder. 

“You’re… Geralt of Rivia, aren’t you? The White Wolf?” the bard asked, voice soft. The lad was a pretty sort, with shiny brown curls and the fresh face of youth. Geralt was reminded for a moment of a young Jaskier, except Jaskier hadn’t been quite so… adoring when they first met. At his nod, the young man let out a squeal. “It’s an honor to meet you! I’ve heard all the songs from Master Jaskier about you. Oh, your heroic tales are enough to make a bard swoon.”

“Thank...you?” Geralt offered, confused. 

The young bard tittered behind his hand. “The pleasure is mine, good sir. What brings you here to Oxenfurt? Surely you have something more heroic and dashing to do than watch the likes of us perform?”

Geralt replied with a nod towards Jaskier, who was prancing around the stage and singing that ridiculous song about his run in with the striga. It wasn’t his favorite, but he knew Jaskier got a kick out of serenading him with it. The corners of his mouth lifted up before he could stop them.

“Of course! You came to see Master Jaskier perform your songs!” the bardling proclaimed with a sheepish smile. He looked up at Geralt through his eyelashes. “How kind of you.”

The smile that had started creeping onto his face froze. What did this kid even mean? “They’re not my songs, Jaskier-” 

The bard cut him off. “But you’re the one who inspired them! You’re the muse. Without you, there would be no songs. What I wouldn’t give to have a muse as splendid as yourself.” He sighed dramatically as he placed a hand over his heart. “Oh the songs I would write you…”

Did all bards talk like that? Jaskier did on occasion, when he was feeling particularly melodramatic, but he’d mellowed out as he’d aged. It was beginning to give him a headache. “I’m not all that special. Jaskier embellishes at times.” Never mind that nine times out of ten, he’d fuck the bard into the mattress after he debuts a new song, but he doubted this bardling needed to hear that. 

Said bardling flutters his eyelashes at Geralt and laughs that same strange tittering sound. “So modest. I’m sure you’re worth all of the embellishments Master Jaskier is willing to offer.”

Geralt was sure he probably looked like a poleaxed fool by this point. This interaction had been strange from start to finish; he had just wanted to watch Jaskier in peace, then escape to the exquisite room in the inn they had paid for. Jaskier owed him a bath and at least three orgasms. “Look, I appreciate your… appreciation for the songs Jaskier sings and the work that I do, but-”

He was cut off again when the bardling leaned in close, pressing the line of his body against Geralt’s side. “I could show you just how much I appreciate you. If you’d like.” 

The unmistakable smell of lust assaulted his nose, leaving Geralt even more gobsmacked than before. But it was wrong, not the spicy-cinnamon smell of _his_ bard. This one was too sweet, and utterly overpowering. 

“No thank you,” he said flatly. He tried to pull away from the bardling, but the young man was apparently pretty determined. Geralt wasn’t sure he could dislodge him without hurting him.

“A handsome Witcher like yourself could surely use some company for the evening? I would hate for you to be lonely, not when you do so much for people like me. Thank you properly? We could go for a drink at the Rosebud, and then we could head to my-”

Just then, Jaskier bounded over to him, smelling of sweat and happiness. It was almost enough to drown out the lust-smell from the bardling. “Geralt! Witcher of my heart! Did you see? Oh, they loved that one song I sang about you and the striga, though I know it’s not your favorite-” He stopped, noticing the young man who was still attempting to cling to Geralt like a limpet. His lips pursed, and Geralt watched his face contort. “And you are?” he addressed the young bard. His tone reminded Geralt of Yennefer when she was speaking to people at court, cold and filled with disdain.

“My name is Adrian, Master Jaskier. I had the slot before you. I’m so glad that I got to see you perform, but Geralt here was just about to-”

Jaskier let out a laugh, but the sound was condescending enough to make Geralt’s back teeth hurt. “I highly doubt that, child. I don’t believe Geralt was taking you _anywhere_. Besides, where are your manners? I doubt that he gave you permission to speak to him in such a friendly way.” He reached down and plucked the bardling’s fingers from Geralt’s arm before swatting his hand away. 

The bard puffed his cheeks out, looking very much like the child Jaskier accused him of being. “Excuse me, Master Jaskier, but I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

Jaskier’s smile turned flinty and a bit feral. “Oh, sweetling. Anything that has to do with the White Wolf is my business.” He wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck and nosed along his jaw, something he knew would make Geralt weak in the knees. “You see, this charming Witcher belongs to me. Why else would he let me sing his praises across the continent? Surely you have a modicum of understanding of lyrics and rhyme to read between them to see the meaning behind them?” He scratches his chin and gets a crestfallen look on his face. “Apparently, the curriculum at Oxenfurt has eroded since I was there. What a shame.”

The bardling’s face turned an unattractive shade of red. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jaskier barrelled over him.

“Now, now, child, it’s time for you to run along back to your wet nurse. The adults have more… interesting things to talk about.” He waved his hand at the lad as if to shoo him away. Then, he leaned close, his lips pressed to the shell of Geralt’s ear. “So, Geralt… do you remember what prize you promised when I won this competition?” 

The low pitch of his voice sent shivers through Geralt; he had trouble keeping his reaction under control. “I do,” was all he managed to say. 

“Well, once they announce my name, you’d better make good. I’d hate to miss the chance to have you put that exquisite cock to good use.” Jaskier spoke loud enough to make sure the bardling heard him, what with him still standing there, mouth agape. “What do you say to that, my darling Witcher?”

“Hmm,” Geralt rumbled, pretending to think about it. He knew better than to indulge Jaskier in moments like this, but the bardling did have it coming. “I think your mouth will be reward enough.”

Jaskier’s eyes twinkled with delight. “Then we mustn’t waste any time! It was lovely to meet you...whoever you are. _My_ Witcher and I must be off. Ta ta!” 

That was Geralt’s cue, he supposed. He whisked the two of them away, back towards a vague direction behind the stage. Once they were out of earshot, Jaskier started to shake with barely contained laughter. “Oh my love, only you would manage to get accosted waiting in the wings. But I guess I should have prepared for that. You are quite the catch.”

Geralt hummed again, crowding Jaskier up close to the nearest wall. “You know what it does to me when you get catty,” he spoke into Jaskier’s skin. His bard smelled divine, spicy with lust and thick with satisfaction. 

“Mmm, had to stake my claim. Can’t have you being whisked away by some young thing when I’m not looking.” Jaskier let out the prettiest noise when Geralt nipped along his jawline. “And I do know what it does to you, dear heart. One of the many reasons I take such joy in it.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Geralt said with a harder bite to Jaskier’s jawline. 

Jaskier shifted, pressing their hips together in a roll. Heat roared through Geralt at the prospect of what his bard was offering. They were no stranger to sex in strange places, but this was definitely a first for him. “I know, darling. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re utterly oblivious to how beautiful you are, how many people want you.” He rocked forward again, hot against Geralt’s hip. “But that’s all right. It’ll be our little secret, keep you all to myself.”

Geralt let out a growl before lifting Jaskier clear off his feet. The bard clung tightly to him, but the warm cinnamon-honey smell of his lust got even thicker. “How long until they announce the winner?” he asked, rubbing his hardening cock against the swell of Jaskier’s pert little ass. 

“Oh, I don’t even fucking care about winning, not if you’re going to-” Geralt’s growl cut him off, and Jaskier rolled his eyes. “All right, you brute. Probably not for another two hours or so. There were more performers on the list. Not that they matter, mind. Not after my stellar performance.”

“Don’t want to wait that long.” He used his hands to spread Jaskier’s thighs even wider. “I want you now.” 

“My, we are presumptuous,” Jaskier teased, threading his fingers in Geralt’s hair and tugging. It earned him another bite, right in the join of his shoulder and neck; Geralt’s favorite place to mark him. “Fuck it, there’s linseed oil in my pocket. Ravish me, darling.”

Geralt didn’t have to be told twice. He took his glove off with his teeth, holding Jaskier up with one hand as he used the other to dig into Jaskier’s pocket. Of course the little shit was prepared for this. He set Jaskier back down on his feet and turned the bard around to face the wall. 

Jaskier was clearly just as eager for this, already fiddling with the ties on his breeches and letting them slide down his thighs. They gathered at his knees and he looked over his shoulder, eyes dark and lips bitten red. “Geralt, please,” he whined, pushing his ass out further. 

“Hmmm,” Geralt rumbled, pleased. He moved his hands over the shape of Jaskier’s ass and kneaded, feeling his cock twitch in his breeches. “No smallclothes?” 

“I came prepared,” Jaskier replied with a sniff. He wiggled his hips invitingly. “Well? What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation? Get on with it!”

Geralt didn’t speak, instead using his teeth to uncork the little vial and cover his fingers in the oil. Heat pooled in his gut as he slid his fingers down the cleft of Jaskier’s ass, teasing around the rim with the tip of his forefinger. Jaskier let out a low moan and pushed back, silently begging for Geralt to actually give it to him. But Geralt also knew that Jaskier lived for the tease, to be kept wanting until he could stand it no longer. He circled again once more before he pressed the tip of his finger against his hole, but not in. 

“Geralt, you fuck, please. Stop teasing me,” Jaskier griped, but his nails were scraping along the wood of the wall and there was a pretty red flush creeping into his cheeks. “I want to feel you, want your come running down my legs as I walk onto that stage to receive my accolade.”

The mouth on his bard was ridiculous; they both knew Geralt wouldn’t let that happen, but the image of it sent a bolt of pleasure down Geralt’s spine. “Fuck, Jask. The things you say,” he said with deep gasp. He pushed his finger inside, earning him another pretty moan out of the man beneath him. Jaskier’s body was soft and tight, giving under his touch so easily. The way his muscles rippled around his finger made Geralt ache. He couldn’t keep from rutting his still clothed cock against Jaskier's thigh, desperate for some friction. 

“More, you can add more, please,” Jaskier whined, rolling his hips back into the finger inside of him. So eager, his bard. Geralt couldn’t deny him, pulling out and slipping in two this time. Jaskier howled, not even bothering to keep quiet. “Fuck, yes, just like that, you know I love your fingers. You touch me so well, mmm, more.”

Letting go of Jaskier, Geralt used his free hand to slip down and undo the laces on his breeches, pulling his cock out. Thick and red and wet at the head already, he went back to rubbing against Jaskier. Just to take the edge off. 

Jaskier carried on, moaning and gasping like a prize whore, riding back against Geralt’s hand. He kept right on talking too, filthy words tumbling from his lips as Geralt slid a third finger inside of him. “Geralt, Geralt, love, darling, please fuck me, I need your cock, want it so bad, please.”

Geralt was aching by this point, unable to hold off any longer. He tipped the rest of the little vial over his cock, stroking the length in time with his thrusts into Jaskier. Fucking his fist felt good, but fucking the bard would be even better. He slid his fingers out, ignoring Jaskier’s whine as he rubbed the thick head of his cock against his swollen hole. “I suppose since it belongs to you,” he murmured, before pushing in. 

The noise Jaskier let out was like music to his ears; his lover rolled his hips in little circles, taking in inch by inch until Jaskier’s pert cheeks were flush against Geralt’s pelvis. “Fuck,” was all the bard could manage. 

Geralt’s head swam with heat, watching sweat trickle down the small of Jaskier’s back to give himself a moment. No matter how many times they did this, he couldn’t help but marvel at the way Jaskier’s body felt around him. Hot, wet, tight, and so, so eager. He took a breath before he began to slide out of Jaskier’s body, only to push back in a moment later.

He took his time, slowly fucking in and out of the bard, keeping his thrusts deep. Jaskier panted and moaned, words being fucked out of him by Geralt’s measured pace. One of his arms moved down, clearly intending to stroke himself, but Geralt stopped him. Jaskier grumbled, but pulled him up so that they were flush against one another. “No, let me,” he whispered into Jaskier’s hairline. 

With that, he reached down the length of his bard’s body to grasp his cock, already red and wet at the head. He began to stroke in time with his thrusts and he relished the sweet little noises it pulled out of Jaskier. He could hear and feel his heartbeat kick up, which meant his lover was getting close. The heat was building in his gut, winding tight like a spring. It wouldn’t be long for him, either. 

“Go on, take what you want. It’s yours. All of it,” Geralt purred into Jaskier’s ear, kissing and licking along Jaskier’s cheek and jaw. The tang of salt and lust was strong on his tongue, making him even hotter. He forced his hips to a stop and held Jaskier’s cock in the circle of his fist. 

Jaskier let out a frustrated noise but started to rock back and forth, filling himself with Geralt’s cock and fucking the tight channel he offered. The bard threw his head back, sweat beading on his skin and his mouth open on a loud, low moan. He started slow and then picked up the pace as he found a rhythm that drove them both mad. Geralt couldn’t stop from growling at the sight and feel and smell of his lover taking his pleasure like this. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he ground out before sinking his teeth into the bite mark already marring Jaskier’s shoulder. It was a struggle to keep his hips still, to not take and fuck into his pretty little bard. 

Jaskier’s moans and whines increased in pitch as he got closer, if the way his body rippled and tightened around the length of Geralt’s cock. “Oh, oh, oh… Geralt, fuck!” he cried out as his body went rigid. Geralt felt the flex of his cock right before sticky warmth coated his hand. It took a beat or two for Jaskier to roll his hips to a stop, letting Geralt milk the last dregs of spend from him. 

With a growl, he let go of Jaskier’s neck and lifted his fingers to his mouth. He sucked the bard’s release from his fingers, relishing in the sharp, salt tang of his lover on his tongue. The smell of them together in the air is what drove him to his own release, as he kept pounding away into Jaskier. More nonsense fell from his bard’s bitten lips, but Geralt barely heard it over the roar in his ears. One, two more deep thrusts and he was spilling into his bard with a choked off groan. 

The only sound between them was their heavy breathing, until Geralt leaned over to press a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before pulling out. The bard hissed at the loss. “Oh, I’ll be feeling that for days,” he muttered, but his voice had a dreamy quality to it that made Geralt purr. Jaskier went to straighten up, grimacing at the mess slowly sliding down his legs. “Fuck, I didn’t really think this through…”

“Should have worn your smalls,” Geralt said as he tucked himself back into his breeches. He’d used a nearby scrap of fabric to clean himself, before reaching to do the same for Jaskier. 

“Well, I’m sorry if I- GERALT! You can’t use that for a come rag, you heathen!” 

Geralt shrugged. “Just did. Now come here so I can make you presentable to receive your reward.” He ignored his bard’s petulant mumbling and gently swiped up the spend he could find. If they had been in a bed somewhere, he would have leaned down and cleaned Jaskier himself, but they were pressed for time. 

Once they were decent, Jaskier turned around and grabbed Geralt by the medallion to pull him in for a kiss, sweet and a little dirty. “Thanks for that.”

“For what?” 

“Letting me stake my claim. I know you’re not the biggest fan of… publicity.” Jaskier gestured around the stage area. “I just didn’t like that little prick touching you.”

Geralt couldn’t keep the smile off his face. After all the times he’d had to do the same, surely Jaskier was allowed to be able to as well. “I’m sure the entire city of Oxenfurt knows now, after that performance,” he teased.  
Jaskier swatted at him, but his blue eyes twinkled. “Yes, well. I hope they enjoyed the free show, because that’s all they’ll ever get,” he replied, showing his teeth. “You’re mine, my Wolf.”

Geralt could live with that. 

-END-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liked it? Loved it? Let me know!


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